


Nighttime Thoughts

by barrettbluejeans



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Angst, F/M, I'm Sorry, Masturbation, One-Sided Attraction, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-05
Updated: 2019-07-05
Packaged: 2020-06-15 19:55:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19626196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/barrettbluejeans/pseuds/barrettbluejeans
Summary: No one had looked at him with those eyes. Eyes that desired justice, but held no judgement. He was infatuated with her almost immediately.Nathaniel reflects on his feelings for his commander.





	Nighttime Thoughts

He thought about her at night. 

Nathaniel found that she was the most beautiful and inspiring woman he had ever met. She was a woman with an unspoken grace; a boldness none but she could achieve. She gave him a second chance, despite how he had tried to commit atrocities against her. She saw through his actions, down to the pain and grief he felt. That was new to him. No one had looked at him with those eyes. Eyes that desired justice, but held no judgement. He was infatuated with her almost immediately.

She wanted Ferelden to be better. He knew that was well within her realm of accomplishments. She had almost single-handedly ended the Blight. She held together what was left of the Grey Wardens in Ferelden, and commanded them with the skill and discipline of a seasoned general. And yet, she was a person still, not without her faults, but almost entirely unapologetic of them. Her charm more than made up for it.

They had known each other once, introduced at a landsmeet. She was intended for his younger brother, Thomas, but had never shown much interest, much to Nathaniel’s smug content. He had thought her beautiful then, but she was younger, maybe 16 or 17. She was just as brash and headstrong then as she was now. Thomas was no match for her. No one was. Or so he thought.

He found himself thinking of her often now. It was hard not to after spending days at a time with her on the road. Her bright, piercing eyes always came to mind first. They would spark in the heat of battle, yet light up warmly whenever Anders would crack a joke or Velanna would admire a particularly lovely tree. Those were the eyes that saw his hurt and understood. 

Her voice would enter his mind next. He would listen to the way she spoke to the landholders and common people with grace and diplomacy and be distracted by the lilting cadence of her northern accent. He would catch her singing little songs to herself while she was polishing her armor and it made his heart do little flips. And her laugh, oh her laugh. She laughed loudly and recklessly, without a care of the sensibilities of others. It was so unlike the quiet, reserved giggles of noblewomen that he was used to and he was in love with it. He cursed himself for being so serious because it meant there were fewer opportunities for him to usher that sound from her. 

He knew his thoughts of her were dangerous. He knew she could never be his, would never be his. She was his commander, his queen. And she loved someone else. That knowledge hurt him, and some days made it hard for him to even look at her. He felt petulant and pathetic. He was pathetic. He felt foolish believing that she would see something in him that no one else had, that they would form a connection. The two of them were above all the pomp and circumstance of nobility. Surely, she would see that and realize that they belonged together. 

But no. She was in love with the bloody king of all people. He wasn’t the king when they met, but it didn’t matter to her. They went off on their quest to save the world and had a whirlwind romance resulting in their marriage. She had her happily ever after. Why would she have held out for poor old Nathaniel, the son of the man who killed her family? Did she even remember him from when they were young? He had never asked and she had never shown any recognition beyond that of his name. She may have considered him a friend now, but their paths would not have even crossed were it not for the crimes of his family. Poor, treacherous, Nathaniel Howe. 

So yes, he thought of her at night. When he was alone, he was allowed to indulge himself of his fantasies. This particular night was a desperate one. He was exhausted after returning from a grueling trek through the Wending Wood and as they entered Vigil’s Keep, a messenger approached the commander, handing her a letter bearing the royal seal. It had to have been from her husband. He sent her letters frequently, but as she read it in the courtyard, the rest of the group storing their weapons and armor, Nathaniel watched as her cheeks turned a remarkable shade of red. She smiled, and Nathaniel felt a surge of heat course through his body as she tugged her lower lip between her teeth. She looked up at the group, her pupils dilated, and quickly announced that she was turning in early and that they should as well, then she quickly made her way to her chambers. Nathaniel couldn’t look away from her as she retreated, at her swaying hips and plush backside. He felt his own cheeks heat and arousal stirring within him as he also announced that he was heading to bed. 

He didn’t even bother cleaning himself of the grime of a day’s journey before entering his room. His cock had hardened as he ascended the stairs, his arousal only growing as he played the sight of her over and over again in his mind. It was a vision of lust, there was no doubt of that, and he cursed his own body for responding in such a way. He tugged his shirt off and threw it on the ground. He was breathing hard, his chest rising and falling dramatically. He grappled with his boots as quickly as he could, having enough sense to not get mud on his bed, before he flopped down on the blankets. 

He closed his eyes and pictured her again. He saw her eyes, usually always piercing and alert, half-lidded and sensual. Her pupils were dilated, just as they were in the courtyard, and she was looking at him through her thick eyelashes. He slid his hands down his chest, stopping to feel at his puckered nipples. His touch sent a jolt through him and he let out a shaky sigh. His face was hot. He thought of her plush lips, at the way her teeth bit into them. What he wouldn’t give to be able to feel those lips on his. To feel them all over his body. To have them wrapped around his cock. His hips bucked at that thought, his cock seeking friction. He brought his hands down his abdomen and clumsily unlaced his trousers. His hand sought out his erection and he palmed at it, not even bothering to tug his trousers down. 

He thought of her positioned above him and wrapped his hand around his shaft as he imagined her lowering herself onto him, enveloping him into her wet heat. He would have been the one to do that to her, to have set her in that state of arousal, so wet and eager to have his cock inside of her. He imagined her riding him, the plush curve of her breasts bouncing with every thrust. He stroked himself roughly, in time with her rolling hips, pre-cum dribbling and sliding underneath his palm. He saw her with her head tossed back, hair flowing past her shoulder blades, and moaning, gasping out his name with her lilting voice, broken and rough with the exertion of their love-making: _Nate! Oh, Maker, Nate!_ He found himself moaning hers softly, with no thought of anyone hearing him. He dreamt of pulling her to him, of kissing her breasts and tonguing at her nipples until they grew puckered and rosy. He wanted to grip at her ass and feel the fullness of it. He wanted to slam up into her until she was screaming in ecstasy. His hips bucked uncontrollably at that thought. His thrusts into his fist were becoming erratic. His other hand wound into his hair and he tugged at it, imagining his fingers were hers. He thought of her eyes again, piercing and beautiful and thoroughly fucked as she whispered in between huffs of breath _I love you._

His orgasm surprised him as he came with a shout. He spilled over his hand, his breathing ragged and exhausted. He swore and covered his eyes as his body jerked through the aftershocks. What a shameful sight he must have been, shaking, covered in cum, tears threatening to spill down his cheeks as he reminded himself yet again that she was not his. She did not love him. She never would. Those eyes, that voice, that woman, were someone else’s to love and cherish. Not his. Not ever. Poor, unloved, Nathaniel Howe.


End file.
